Friday, December 30, 2016

The Twelve Kingdoms rest uneasy
under their new High Queen, reeling from civil war and unchecked magics. Few
remember that other powers once tested their borders—until a troop of foreign
warriors emerges with a challenge . . .

Jepp has been the heart of the queen’s elite guard, her Hawks,
since long before war split her homeland. But the ease and grace that come to
her naturally in fighting leathers disappears when battles turn to politics.
When a scouting party arrives from far-away Dasnaria, bearing veiled threats
and subtle bluffs, Jepp is happy to let her queen puzzle them out while she
samples the pleasures of their prince’s bed.

But the cultural norms allow that a Dasnarian woman may be wife or
bed-slave, never her own leader—and Jepp’s light use of Prince Kral has sparked
a diplomatic crisis. Banished from court, she soon becomes the only envoy to
Kral’s strange and dangerous country, with little to rely on but her wits, her
knives—and the smolder of anger and attraction that burns between her and him .
. .

The dragons loomed in silent menace against the rosy dawn. They’d given me a serious chill the first time the Hákyrling sailed between their fearsome snarling mouths. This time their daunting size and gleaming black coils seemed to mock me.

Running away, little warrior?

No—just abandoning the field of battle, deserting the woman entrusted to my protection by the High Queen, and flinging myself headfirst into a mission completely beyond my skills. Nothing to write home about. If anyone at home had cared. Ha!—and if I could write very well. Stupid saying, anyway.

As Glorianna’s sun tipped over the ocean’s horizon, the rays caught the sharp edges of the dragons’ scales, glinting as on the finest blade’s edge. Carved from the island rock and built up from there so they reared ten times the height of the Hákyrling’s mast, they looked about to spring to annihilating life. Great bat wings lay folded against the back of one, half-mantled on the other, massive snakelike tails winding down the rockfall to dangle in the seawater. Impossible creatures, I’d thought—until I’d seen one flying through the air.

The guardians delivered an obvious warning that I’d nevertheless neglected to heed. Now Dafne, my friend and the person I had been supposed to protect, lay prisoner in the clutches of the dragon king. I gripped the polished rail of the ship, keeping myself from looking back. Bryn never look back. More than a superstition, less than a magic spell, I’d heard that caution all my young life, told me first by my mother, and echoed by my grandmother, aunts, great-aunts, sisters, cousins, friends, and teachers.

Bryn never look back.

I wouldn’t shame their legacy by doing so now. Much as it pained me. Had I been gifted with Zynda’s shape-shifting magic, I might not have been able to hold out. How she kept from leaping into the water and swimming back to Dafne’s side, I didn’t know. Maybe that was why she’d gone below, an unusual move for her, as much as she thrived on being outdoors. Likely the worry wormed in her gut also, wondering what Dafne might suffer even at that very moment. Alone among a foreign people, likely married to a tyrant—a mark of the muddle we’d made of it that we weren’t entirely sure of even that much—and barely able to speak the language. Walking away in the dark before dawn had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done.

And I’d done plenty of hard things.

Where I came from, you did hard or you gave up and died. Easy decision. Usually.

We passed beneath the silently roaring dragon guardians, and my gut lurched. No, the ship did, leaping to the wind outside the protected harbor, wine-dark sails billowing with a series of booms as the Dasnarian sailors scrambled to adjust them. Within moments, the island, and any hope of reneging on my decision to shirk one duty in favor of another, fell behind me.

“She’ll be all right—don’t fret yourself so much.”

Oh joy. Kral. Just the megalomaniac to make my morning perfect. “Is that an order, General Kral of Dasnaria and Imperial Prince of the Royal House of Konyngrr? Ooh—or perhaps you’re relating a vision from Danu herself!”

He growled in his throat and leaned his forearms on the rail next to me, bracing against the pitch of his ship as we crossed into the choppier open sea, away from the lee of the island. “In Dasnaria we do not heed your three goddesses. Perhaps the women do, to succor hearth and home, but such weakness would not be fitting for a warrior of our people, much less one of the royal line.”

I rolled my eyes, ostentatiously so he wouldn’t miss it, turning so I stood hipshot, daring him to take a good long look at what he’d never again lay a finger on. “Danu is the goddess of clear-eyed wisdom, the bright blade, unflinching justice, and self-discipline. I can see your point—not manly virtues at all.”

He turned his head, blue eyes glittering. Not like the sea, but like the deep ice of Branli near the Northern Wastes, where cliffs of it rose so thick, the white darkened to blue. Chill and ruthless as any of my blades. “If you were a man, I’d challenge you for such words.”

“Challenge me anyway. I could use a minute or so of exercise. Though I might not need even that long to take you down.”

“My honor does not permit me to challenge a woman. Now, if you care to attack first...,” he trailed off invitingly, jaw hard behind the short golden beard he’d grown on the journey.

I ground my teeth. “You know full well my pledge to the High Queen prevents me from doing so.”

“A woman making a vow to another woman.” He shook his head, assuming an expression of innocent wonder. “You’re all so adorable.”

My grasp of Dasnarian still lagged miserably behind fluent, but I thought I had the meaning there. Even if not, his condescending tone expressed plenty. My fingers itched to pull the twin daggers from the sheaths at my hips. How fine it would be, to see the bright blood springing red against his golden tanned skin, shocked surprise burbling into that cold gaze as he clutched his throat, collapsing at my feet. Unable to even beg for the mercy I’d never offer.

“What?” Kral’s brows drew together in suspicion.

I raked his long body with a deliberately salacious stare and grinned. “Just enjoying a little fantasy.”

That got him. Petty revenge, perhaps, and a smidge compared to how I’d love to make him suffer for his many sins. Lust flared in his hard-lined face and he clamped his lips down on it. A pity, as that mouth had provided me with considerable pleasure that one ill-advised night we’d spent together. As had those big hands with their fierce strength. Hung like a stallion, with the stamina of a man half his age and, oh, Danu, the devastating and meticulous patience to use it all to drive a woman crazy.

Goddesses take me, I was getting all hot and bothered thinking about it. Thanks to Lunkhead and his tyrannical edict that none of his men touch me, I already suffered from longer privation than I had since I figured out someone else’s hand felt even better than my own.

He iced it over fast, covering it with neutral arrogance. “Learn to squelch your fantasies. I will not have you again, rekjabrel.”

“I didn’t offer. You will never be so lucky. Oh, and it wasn’t that kind of fantasy.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“No.” I yawned deliberately, which turned into a real jaw cracker. Nothing like missing two nights of sleep. Zynda and I had taken turns guarding Dafne while she slept, but I’d never quite managed more than a light snooze. Odd, as I’d long ago mastered the soldier’s art of taking restorative sleep instantly at the opportunities afforded by circumstance. It might have been because I’d never before had sole responsibility for another’s life—and at the charge of my captain, now High Queen. Who I’d already failed by fucking up with this very man. You pissed off a prince of the Dasnarian throne, general of their armies, with whom we just created a very new and even more tenuous peace? Dafne’s incredulous voice still echoed in my head. How was I supposed to know Kral expected some kind of fidelity? After one encounter. Well, six or seven—I’d lost count somewhere in the early dawn hours—but only one night. One of the best I’d ever had. Unfortunate, given his obstinate irascibility.

“No,” I repeated. “I don’t want to hurt your fragile manly feelings, but really the fucking was quite forgettable. I thought maybe you’d improve with practice, but alas.” I shrugged for the inevitability of it all. My Dasnarian might be far from fluent, but I knew most of the sex words, and it had proved to be a language excellent for delivering insults.

Kral straightened, folding his arms as he faced me, muscled legs impressively absorbing the ship’s movement. I’d like to be able to do the same and not hang on to the rail, but pitching overboard would be an even bigger blow to my pride.

“I seem to recall otherwise.” His turn to look me over with hot eyes, taunting me. “Once I had you on your back, you squirmed like a kottyr, purring and helplessly happy to have her belly rubbed just so.”

The image shouldn’t have made me as hot as it did. My susceptibility was no doubt due to his thrice-damned enforced celibacy. Well, and my unreasonable attraction to him. Gathering up all that too easily aroused lust, I funneled it into a prayer. Danu, accept my sacrifice for you. If the goddess talked to me—which, ha! Goddesses didn’t really do that kind of thing—She would be snorting in disgust. Her priestesses offered Her their celibacy as a sign of devotion, dedicating their bodies to being instruments of war and justice, channeling sexual energy into devotion to a cause, not to the softer, hedonistic delights. I was pretty sure being hard up didn’t exactly count as a sacrifice.

Thing was, Kral had rubbed me exactly the right way, and I’d more than purred. I was never helpless, however—an important lesson the Dasnarian had yet to learn. “I seem to recall,” I echoed him, pursing my lips as if in thought, “that you had me on more than my back. You had me any number of ways—on my stomach, on all fours, on your back... Tell me, lover, which was your favorite?”

We hadn’t closed any distance, but it felt like we had, the heat thickening the cool morning air. Oh, yeah, that got to him. He didn’t shift to adjust his arousal, but he wanted to. I let my eyes linger there and smirked. Then blew him a little kiss.

“Witch,” he said, with narrowed, hard eyes. The same word his brother Harlan had used to name the late unlamented Illyria, priestess of a foul Dasnarian religion, Deyrr. An evil worker of magic indeed. Low blow comparing me to the resurrector of corpses.

“Resorting to that?” I snickered. “Though, from what I’ve heard of your Dasnarian women, what I did to you must have felt magical all right.”

“You know nothing of our women and yet you defame them with your sly insults. You will make an ill ambassador indeed. I will be hard-pressed to keep you from getting yourself killed.”

“Aw, so sweet. I didn’t know you cared. Oh, wait! You don’t. You made a promise to your brother. Tell me—does Harlan know you manipulated events to draw Dafne out of Ordnung in order to deliver her to King Nakoa KauPo?”

The accusation caught him unawares, guilt mixing with surprise before he covered it. My keen-edged question had flashed through his guard before he saw it coming, and I had my answer, thrice-curse it.

I shook my head, tsking sadly. “You pretend to make amends with a brother you wronged and lie through your teeth. Does your Dasnarian honor come with laundry service? I’m afraid yours is a bit soiled.”

Kral’s jaw bulged, and the fingers holding one forearm dug in, clearly longing to draw on me. Oh, I wished he would. Danu take him for what he’d done to Dafne. This wasn’t at all how an ambassador should think—or behave—but I’d been field promoted and likely wouldn’t survive to face Her Majesty’s censure regardless. Or, if I did manage to get through this and she cut me loose, I’d just go elsewhere. I’d re-created myself before and could do it again. Everyone needed good scouts.

The Tala shape-shifters might lump me in with the unchanging mossbacks, but I’d never stayed anywhere long. Not since I’d left home.

“I did not forswear myself to my brother,” Kral replied, his voice measured against the rage boiling behind the icy blue. “I promised to watch over the scribe in the Dasnarian court. If she is not at court, there is nothing I can do.”

My own anger burned at his perfidy. “You promised that, knowing all along that you would deliver her into a forced marriage with Nakoa. You have a large mouth that you can lie out of both sides at the same time. And to a brother you already wronged at least once. You shave the boundaries of your honor pretty thin.”

“What do you know of what passed between Harlan and me?” Kral flung out the question as a challenge, but he wanted to know the answer. Too bad. I wouldn’t give up my advantage by owning up that I had no idea. Dafne hadn’t known either. If Harlan had confessed the truth to High Queen Ursula, she’d kept his secrets well.

“Enough to know you’ve betrayed him yet again by failing to protect Dafne as you swore to do.”

“I neither betrayed him nor failed to protect your queen’s ambassador.” He held out a hand, ticking off the points. “I did not know King Nakoa KauPo’s intentions, only that he handed me a drawing of a woman and asked to meet her. I do not believe her to be in danger, as he clearly regards her as a much-treasured wife. Any woman should be grateful for such fortune. Harlan’s judgment may be questionable, anchoring himself in servitude to a foreign queen as he has, but any true son of Dasnaria would recognize the truth of this. Finally, the expressed goal of his mistress and your queen was to send an ambassador to the Dasnarian court. You might be a pitifully inadequate substitute who will no doubt immediately shame your Twelve Kingdoms, but the mission arguably continues intact as described in the treaty.”

I fumed, wanting to argue seven different points at once. Failing that, I curled my lip in my best sneer. “You are an ass.”

He nearly lost it, fingers twisting and body quaking as he almost lunged for my throat. I had my blades out and ready to strike before he viciously yanked himself back. “Because you are no proper female, I could justify taking you down for that, but I won’t.”

“Afraid if you bend that honor any further, it will break? Understandable, as you’ve stretched your vows thin enough to be flimsy threads in the wind.”

“What is it you want with these taunts, Jepp? I could break you in half without trying.”

“You’d have to get past my blades first.”

He unfolded his arms, fisting hands on his hips instead. Once under sail, he’d shed the black armor that made him and his men look half again as big, but still he towered over me by a head. “I already did,” he said softly.

“You won’t ever again.”

“I wouldn’t lower myself. As you pointed out, the rewards were hardly worth the sweat. I’ll now point out that you didn’t answer my question.”

“I want two things,” I spat at him, sheathing my knives. Might as well lay it out now. “I agreed to leave Dafne behind because me taking her place as ambassador is more important in the grand scheme than her personal happiness. She made the sacrifice and I won’t diminish it by gainsaying her.”

“And because you had no choice in the matter.”

That rankled. I still thought we could have broken her out somehow. Nakoa’s open-air palace had no physical security. Even with her unable to walk, we could have maybe... Eh, no help for it now. Dafne had made the decision—including handing me responsibility for the secret part of her mission—and she outranked me. “Therefore,” I continued as if Kral hadn’t made his petty point of clarification, “I’m calling on you to uphold your promise to your brother and aid me in navigating the Dasnarian court.”

He set his mouth mulishly. “That regarded the scribe, not you.”

“Oh, I think you bent that vow plenty already to accommodate covering me also. Don’t forget—we’re not in Dasnaria yet. You’ve yet to be allowed to cross out of Her Majesty’s realm. Queen Andromeda will meet us at the barrier wall, and if I tell her what’s transpired, she may not choose to let you pass. You need me if you want to get home. Also, if I send a message back to Harlan, detailing what you’ve done—how do you suppose he will interpret your rearrangement of the rules?”

“My little brother has long been estranged from me. What would it matter to me if he renewed his snit?”

Logical, and yet... I thought it did matter to him. Just as it mattered greatly to him to get his ship and men back to Dasnaria. Nothing like spending a skin-slicked night learning a man intimately to give a woman insight into his psyche. One reason sex made an excellent venue for spying and extracting all sorts of information. Kral was an indisputable, unmitigated ass, but family mattered to him. Whatever had happened, it had affected them both profoundly. He and Harlan had mended fences over a bottle of mjed, a Dasnarian liquor Harlan had saved during his travels for just such a special occasion—once the treaty had been signed. Several of the other Hawks and I had matched them shot for shot, the mjed deliciously light, belying the sucker punch that rivaled that of Branlian whiskey. Which may have led to the aforementioned ill-advised sexual encounter.

The scent and flavor of it certainly twined in my memory with the taste of Kral’s skin and the heated thrust of his body. No thinking about that. I needed to focus on carrying forward with Dafne’s quest. Like it or not, I’d need Kral’s help.

“I think it would matter to you. More, I think it would matter to him. Shall we find out?” My dare whipped out like the whisk of a blade against his resolve. Oh, yeah, he flinched ever so slightly.

“I will help you act as ambassador,” he conceded. “As I had already planned to do. Not because of your weak threats, but because it would shame me to have you blundering about offending one and all. Thus my first piece of advice—learn to dress and move as befits a lady. Your mannish ways will only offend.”

“You didn’t find me so mannish at Ordnung.”

He ground his teeth, the click of his jaw audible. Not healthy at all. “Sampling the exotic fare travel brings is not the same as stomaching unpleasant foreign tastes in one’s own home. You asked for my assistance; that’s where we begin. No one at the Dasnarian court will speak to you garbed as you are and behaving as you do.”

“Do you think putting me in a gown will make me less dangerous? I could gut you before you knew I’d drawn a blade.”

Kral narrowed his eyes. “I am not young Blagor. You would not take first blood so easily.”

“Heard about that, huh?” Ursula, back then not the High Queen, but heir and captain of the Hawks, had chosen me to demonstrate to Harlan and his Dasnarian mercenaries, the Vervaldr, just what a well-trained woman with a pair of delicate blades could do. Surprising them had been most satisfying.

“An exaggerated tale, I’m certain.”

“I’m happy to demonstrate anytime, General Killjoy, no matter what I’m wearing.”

“Ah. I’m glad you agree, then, that wearing a proper garment will not be a problem for you.”

Danu save me, I couldn’t back down from that. Besides, I would need every advantage I could muster. “Fine. Once we arrive in Dasnaria, I will obtain some of the local clothing.”

“There are some traditional Dasnarian costumes appropriate for females aboard. I will arrange for them to be sent to your cabin.”

On a shipful of men? I probably didn’t want to know. Kral read it on my face, however, enjoying my discomfort. “Occasionally our rekjabrel accompany their men on shorter journeys. And we bring gifts back to them and our wives. The wise man keeps his woman in pretty things, as her happiness may not guarantee his, but her unhappiness will surely create his misery.”

“You’re just chock-full of advice today, aren’t you?” I almost preferred his studied refusal to acknowledge my existence.

A strange expression crossed his face, as if he’d also only just realized he’d reversed his recent behavior. “As you will be ambassador whether either of us enjoys the prospect, then yes—it occurred to me that I’d best take you in hand to ensure I am not censured for bringing a disgrace into His Imperial Majesty’s court.”

Sweet talker. I sent a prayer to Danu for patience. And wisdom. Maybe a double helping of both. This prayer felt far more sincere. Look at all this celibacy I’ve offered, Danu—my idea or not, I’m doing it. A little assistance in return wouldn’t go amiss.

I managed to swallow my pride at the “take you in hand” remark. What would Dafne say? “I am... grateful for your advice and assistance, General Kral.”

He grinned, not at all nicely. Couldn’t even be gracious in victory.

“What was the other favor you craved of me?”

Excuse me? I bit back the seventeen different retorts that sprang to tongue at that one. I almost regretted that I’d announced I wanted two things, but oh, well. Hurt nothing but my pride to ask. “Lift your edict on no one having sex with me.”

Ridiculous that I had to ask, but I was getting thriced-desperate. Neither Dafne nor Zynda had been persuadable on the topic; the couple of days on Nahanau had been entirely in crisis mode with no time for dallying. Now I’d be trapped with Kral and his men for Danu knew how long, and not a one would go against his order that I was hands-off. Goddesses knew I’d tried.

Kral smiled with only half his mouth, a definite smirk. “Feeling the burn, kottyr?”

My turn to clench my teeth together. “As I’m sure you must be also.”

Instead of delivering a scathing remark, he inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Though it seems to me you scratched your itch more recently than I have mine.”

No dallying with the pretty island girls, then? Interesting. “By hardly a day,” I pointed out. Which was the wrong thing to say. Kral had taken it quite badly that I’d fucked Brandur hours after leaving the general’s well-used bed. I wasn’t even sure why I had. Kral had left me thoroughly sated. Brandur and I had never been exclusive, but Brandur had invited me in a persuasive way and... Okay, maybe I’d felt the need to scrub the lingering and overpowering feel of Kral from my body. No lover, man or woman, had ever stayed on my mind like that, for most of the next cursed day. Danu’s tits—who knew the man would be possessive of a woman he’d just met?

“Are you asking for an apology?” I asked, sounding reasonably neutral.

His gaze sharpened. “Are you offering?”

“No, I’m determining the terms of this particular treaty.”

“An apology for offending my honor and betraying my trust would go a long way, yes. Along with the acknowledgment that you agreed to be mine and will not stray again. At that point, I might be able to be persuaded to assist with that itch of yours. If you ask nicely.” He grinned, a definite challenge.

“Not going to happen. I never agreed to be yours, you misogynistic tool.” I added that last insult in Common Tongue, as—no big shocker there—Dasnarian didn’t seem to have a word for the concept, though they might as well have invented the practice.

His smile vanished, face going as icy as those Branlian glaciers. “You did agree, when you accepted the invitation to my bed.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Sex! I accepted the offer of sex, not lifetime servitude.”

“I offered you the protection of my body, a guarantee of food and shelter. Those are the terms.”

“Dasnarian terms.”

“Of course,” he replied, frowning a bit. At least he might be processing some of his mistake there.

“Look, Kral.” I made an effort to sound reasonable. “I realize you think the Dasnarian Empire is the center of the universe, but there are other cultures, other ways of doing things. I protect my own body, work for my own food and shelter. In my world, an offer of sex is just that. We had a good night. We parted ways after. Now we have to work together. Can we call a truce already?”

I cursed him, a vicious one from old Bryn, which only made him look more pleased.

“I’m responsible for my men and for your welfare as ambassador. The Tala sorceress, too. I would be remiss if I allowed any trouble to ensue.” He looked me up and down. “But if you wish to renegotiate the terms of our truce, you know what to do.”

He sauntered off, whistling, much too pleased with himself.

About Jeffe Kennedy

Jeffe
Kennedy is an award-winning author whose works include novels, non-fiction,
poetry, and short fiction. She has been a Ucross Foundation Fellow, received
the Wyoming Arts Council Fellowship for Poetry, and was awarded a Frank Nelson
Doubleday Memorial Award.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Read 3 sizzling, dark, paranormal romance novels and fall in love with the Rulers of Darkness.

Passion can be lethal...

Caressed by Moonlight
Dorian Vlakhos is no ordinary aristocrat. He is a vampire king, who will do anything to save his clan from complete annihilation, before an ancient curse can claim his immortal life.
Penniless and orphaned, Victoria Kingston has nothing to bring to a marriage, yet she must shackle an unsuspecting gentleman into marriage by the end of the month or forfeit her rights as guardian of her younger sister. With the help of her dearest friend, Victoria begins her hunt, and vows to stay far away from the dark, mysterious, Dorian Vlakhos.
After meeting the beautifully innocent Miss Kingston, Dorian had to have her. He would do absolutely anything to make Victoria his. One sweet stolen kiss would bring them together while a force, more powerful than any vampire, would bind them for all eternity, but treachery, war, and death rule Dorian’s dark world and Victoria would be fortunate to survive.Caressed by Night
Dimitri Arsov, the last remaining pure vampire, was thought to be dead for the past four hundred years. Now, he is back and has a score to settle with the traitor that had tried to kill him centuries ago. But as he waits for his prey to blindly step into his carefully laid trap, his overwhelming hunger for blood is triggered when he saves a beautiful art historian.
Kerstyn Ingmar’s life was normal and straight up boring until the night she is rescued by the dangerously sexy, powerfully mesmerizing, Dimitri. Unable to resist his diamond blue eyes and intense kisses, she is drawn into his world of darkness and closer to her impending doom.
While their desire consumes them, Dimitri is haunted by images of a bloody and deadly future. As his enemies draw near, he must find a way to save his mate from her destiny before fate destroys them both.Caressed by a Crimson Moon
Consumed by madness and tormented by dark memories of blood and death, Hadrian Lucretius, King of the Validus Clan, has returned after living in self-imposed exile for nearly three hundred and fifty years.
To maintain peace with the vampires, Eva Maldonado is offered as a sacrifice to the crazed vampire king by her father, the alpha of the Silveria Shifter Pack. Hadrian’s reputation is both legendary and lethal; he is ruthless, bloodthirsty, lusty, and soulless. When Eva arrives at the ancient fortress high in the Carpathian Mountains, she is shocked to find a ravaged man with dark burning eyes filled with loneliness and dangerous desire.
Would she be his lover…or his prey? His savior…or his victim? Would Hadrian lure her into madness or would their perilous passion be their redemption?

a Rafflecopter giveawayAmanda J. Greene creates paranormal romance for ravenous readers. She lives in Southern California, where she enjoys escaping the rewarding but hectic world of writing by spending time in the sun and sand with her military husband and their two dogs.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Years ago, Skye Everwood survived
a vicious assault, and now, she’s losing her eyesight as she faces her worst
nightmare… Her attacker is back to finish what he started.

When the love of her life
unexpectedly shows up at her restaurant, she knows it’s not a coincidence. Skye
never understood why Bodhi King disappeared after that fateful day. Their plans
to get married went up in smoke, just like her dreams to stay in the JAG Core.
Unsure if she can trust him with her heart—let alone her life—she searches to
find answers to why he left in the first place.

Amber Malloy dreamed of being a
double agent but couldn’t pass the psyche evaluation. Crushed by despair that
she couldn’t legally shoot things, Amber pursued her second career choice as
pastry chef. When she’s not writing or whipping up a mean Snickers Cheesecake,
she occasionally spies on her sommelier. Amber is convinced he’s faking his
French accent.

Amber loves to talk to her
readers and can be found at www.ambermalloy.com

Doctor Abbigail Sutherland is used to being alone. Between twelve hour shifts at the hospital and looking after her eccentric father, she has very little time for much else. Until an unexpected call one night, sends her racing to the lab where she discovers a secret that could change the world forever.

Hauke awakens after an underwater explosion, strapped to a bed and on his way to a site known as Area 51. His only hope for survival lies in Abbie Sutherland, the beautiful doctor that saved his life. Amidst a deadly virus, seemingly impossible to stop, and a corrupt Government placing a price on their heads, Hauke and Abbie run for their lives, uncovering conspiracies, deceptions, and a love that won't be denied...

Other books in the Enigma Series:

Publisher: DK Media

Published: July 2016

As a Bracadyte Princess, Naura is forbidden to visit the surface. Until an explosion near her home in Aukrabah, leaves her injured and in the arms of a land walker named Anthony Vaughn. Recognizing him as her mate, Naura will stop at nothing to be with Tony. Even if it means her life.

Anthony Vaughn doesn't exist. Having his family tortured before his eyes, and his past erased by the CIA, he no longer has a soul. The last thing he wants or needs is the responsibility of protecting the beautifully naive Naura from a ruthless Government that wants her head. Danger and seduction become a constant companion in a world of intrigue, conspiracy and a deadly epidemic that threatens to destroy them all.

On a mission to save his people from being destroyed, Vaulcron must team up with a human reporter known as the Great White Shark. She's beautiful, cunning, and definitely hiding something. Vaulcron will do anything for his family, even if it means breeding with the one woman who can destroy them all.

Mallory Cahill hasn't become the lead reporter of Channel Eight News by being weak. Feared by some and hated by many, she'll do anything to get the story, no matter whose toes she has to step on to achieve it. When Vaulcron, a Bracadyte prince, virtually falls into her lap, Mallory jumps at the chance to interview him. She doesn't count on falling for the gorgeous alien any more than she expects to be running for her life from the very government who had promised to protect her.

A legendary healer fully devoted to his people, Zaureth is one of the most powerful Bracadytes in Aukrabah. But his gifts come with enormous responsibilities and a heavy price—a vow of peace and celibacy. From the moment he meets Amy, a tiny human female born without sight, those vows are threatened. She calls forth every protective instinct he possesses, along with a desire he is powerless to deny.

Amy Brighton may have been born blind, but she doesn't need sight to know how she feels about the Bracadyte healer. Their first touch forges a connection between them too strong to resist. Now Amy must overcome a lifetime of dark uncertainty if she wants to live, and turn to the only light she will ever know. Zaureth...

Raised by the Cuban cartel, Nicho “Oz” Ozele learned early on that it was far better to be feared than loved. Now he’ll use everything in his formidable arsenal to stay alive. Even if it means abducting the incredibly enticing sister of his most hated enemy. Wanted by the mob and running from the deadly Incola virus, Oz turns to the only family he has left—the Bracadytes.

Taken hostage by her father's killer, Maria wants nothing more than to see Oz dead for his crimes against her family. With all she has, she fights Oz at every turn. Until one night on the open water, he risks his life to save hers, forcing Maria to choose between the need for revenge and her heart’s strongest desire.

“If the toupee fits.” They both laughed a moment before falling into a comfortable silence.

Abbie’s mother had died from cancer twenty-five years earlier, and Henry had never remarried. He hid his loneliness behind a mask of indifference and immersed himself wholly in his work.

Being the lead epidemiologist for Winchester Industries had become Henry’s proverbial crutch, and he spent entirely too much time alone at the lab.

Abbie worried about him constantly and planned evenings such as the one they had tonight to spend quality time together. It didn’t always work. She knew he saw her mother every time he looked into his daughter’s eyes. The exact replica of the only woman he’d ever loved.

The trill of a phone broke the silence, and her father excused himself to take the call.

Work, no doubt, Abbie thought, taking a bite of the burger she’d just made to her liking.

He reappeared a moment later with a guilty look in his eyes. “That was the lab, honey. They need me to come in.”

“What could be so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

He avoided her gaze. “I’m not sure, but I’ll call you later. Don’t wait up. It’s going to be a late night.”

Something in his voice kicked her curiosity up a notch. He never could hide things well, and the whole no eye contact? Yeah, he was definitely keeping something from her.

“I’ll come with you.” She pushed her plate aside and stood.

“Nonsense. Stay and eat your heart attack on a bun. You worked a twelve-hour shift at the hospital today.”

Abbie had worked at Winchester Industries with her father for several years and often assisted him in the lab before she’d been unceremoniously laid off due to supposed budget cuts.

She knew the higher ups had purposefully kept things from her during her time working in the lab, but whatever Henry hid from her now had to be awfully big for him to outright lie to his only daughter.

And she had no doubt he evaded the truth by the way his left eye twitched. That little trademark had always given him away. “What are you not telling me?”

He pursed his lips. “Okay, you got me. I didn’t want to have to say this, honey, but you are adopted.”

A chuckle bubbled up before she could stop it. She stood on tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the chin. “That explains a whole hell of a lot.”

“You look so much like your mother, Abbigail. She had the same hazel eyes and dark hair. Her butt wasn’t quite as big though.”

Abbie playfully smacked him on the arm before stepping back. “I inherited the infamous booty from you, Henry.”

She knew he didn’t like her to call him Henry any more than she appreciated him referring to her as Abbigail. They were incorrigible teases, but it was their way.

“I really do have to run, sweetie.”

“At least let me pack up your food to take with you, or you won’t eat.”

He nodded and began gathering his work paraphernalia while she bagged up his dinner.

What are you up to, Henry?

Abbie followed him to the car and held the door open as he deposited his things on the passenger seat.

“You are welcome to stay here tonight, Abbie. Jax would love the company.”

“I probably will. If I leave, I’ll feed him before I go.”

He gave her a two-finger salute and slid behind the wheel.

Abbie stepped back as the door closed and the engine roared to life. He backed out of the drive without another glance in her direction.

She waited until his tail lights disappeared around the corner before going back inside to put food out for Jax. He followed her around with a rubber ball in his mouth, bumping into her legs. The big German shepherd had been with Henry for nearly ten years and had become part of the family.

“You know what’s going on, don’t you, boy?”

His tail wagged in response from the attention.

“Wanna give me a clue? No? I didn’t think so. You are a male after all.” She snagged the ball from his jaws and tossed it across the room, grinning as he bounded after it.

After a quick shower, Abbie brushed her teeth and strolled to her old bedroom in search of something to wear. Henry kept the room exactly as Abbie had left it before she’d gone off to college, right down to the blue pom-poms hanging from the bedpost.

She dressed in a pair of jeans and a black tank top, pulled her long dark hair back in a ponytail, and made haste cleaning up the mess from their earlier dinner.

Grabbing her keys, she switched off the lights and left the house.

Abbie marched to her car with determined steps. Something was up, and she’d be damned if she would remain behind to play the docile daughter while her father hid things from her.

You’re too overprotective, Henry. Just because I have breasts doesn’t mean I’m fragile. She had no doubt that if she’d been born a male the passenger seat of his car would have housed her ass when he’d left.

* * * *

Abbie pulled into the parking lot of Winchester Industries and switched off the engine.

Her father’s car sat in its reserved spot in front of a sign that read H. Sutherland. She grabbed the registration to her vehicle from the glove box, exited the car, and glanced up at the camera situated on the corner of the building.

Security would be a piece of cake. She did, however, need to figure out a believable reason for being here in the first place without alerting Henry to her presence.

The evening security guard waved from his perch behind a small, less than clean window. Smudges on the glass blurred his smile, but she couldn’t mistake the shiny gold tooth displayed so proudly from its position in the front of his mouth.

The door buzzed once, and a click told her the lock had released. She pulled it open and stepped inside.

“Hi, Willie. How are you this evening?”

Willie had been one of her favorite night watchmen. His uniform always appeared clean, neatly creased, and he smelled nice. The badge he wore shone perfectly to match the bald spot on top of his head. He had a toothy grin for everyone and a heart of gold.

“Doing good, Miss Abbie. What brings you out here?”

“Henry forgot an important piece of his work.” She held up the folded car registration before quickly tucking it into the pocket of her jeans.

“I hate it when that happens. My wife is always harping at me about how forgetful I’m getting. I reckon she’s right. It’s hell getting old.”

He glanced suspiciously at the pocket she’d tucked the paper into. “He must be working on something pretty big to bring you down here at this hour. It’s almost nine o’clock.”

Abbie inwardly groaned. She hated like hell lying to Willie, but left with little choice, lying was exactly what she did.

“He’s working on some antimicrobial susceptibility tests, and they called him in to straighten out a mix-up in results. It could be the fact that he used the gradient diffusion method instead of—”

Willie laughed, effectively cutting her off. “Okay, Miss Abbie. You lost me back at antimicro…something.” He waved her on. “Tell him not to work too hard.”

“Have a good night, Willie. Tell that beautiful wife of yours I’m ready for more of her fried chicken.”

“I sure will.” He beamed.

He touched her arm as she turned to go. “Wait. Dr. Sutherland left his dinner down here when he signed in. Do you want to take it up to him on your way through? If not, I can buzz him and let him know it’s here.”

Abbie ground her teeth. If he picked up the phone, Willie would spill the beans without realizing it. The man loved to talk.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll take it.” She caught sight of a keycard peeking out from under some papers on Willie’s desk and quickly snagged it when he bent to retrieve Henry’s dinner from under the counter. She stuffed the card into her back pocket.

He straightened and handed her the bag. “Here you go, Miss. Abbie.”

“See you, Willie.” She winked at him and hurried off down the hall.

The cameras strategically placed along the corners of the ceiling made her nervous. If anyone involved in whatever Henry worked on recognized her, they would surely sound the alarm.

Abbie knew Winchester Industries pushed the limits and sometimes experimented with drugs not previously approved by the FDA. But whatever her father had rushed to the lab for had nothing to do with illegal testing. He wouldn’t have been asked to come back in for that alone. No, this was definitely something bigger.

To increase her chances of staying under the radar, Abbie bypassed the elevator for the stairs. Taking them two at a time, she stopped at the door to the second floor. With a slight tug, it cracked open enough that she could see into the hallway. She stood there for several heartbeats, listening for any sound, and then slipped quietly into the corridor.

Male laughter rang out up ahead, and Abbie stilled. Damn. Are they guarding the lab?

She glanced up at a camera in the corner. Monitors were installed in every office throughout the building, along with the security hub. The longer she stood in the open, the higher her chances were of being seen.

After a moment, the voices grew faint, signaling the men had headed off in the opposite direction. She blew out a breath she’d been holding and crept silently forward.

Noticing the door to the lab was closed when she rounded the corner, she quickly fished out the keycard from her back pocket and slid it effortlessly through the vertical groove situated next to the doorjamb. The green light activated right on cue, and she cringed as a click sounded loud enough to startle a sloth.

The predictable sounds of a lab in use met her ears as she eased the door open and entered her father’s domain. He obviously hadn’t heard the lock disengage over the consistent beeps and humming of the equipment surrounding him.

Abbie took in the room with a quick glance, noticing a big pair of feet hanging off the end of a bed her father stood next to.

Her heart began to pound as she crept farther inside. The closer she got the more confused she became. It was definitely a man lying on the bed; only, she’d never seen one that size in her lifetime.

A sheet covered his lower body from waist to ankles, leaving his upper half bare. His chest appeared devoid of hair and stood off the bed about two feet. He was massive and had to be at least six foot ten by her estimation.

Warmth enveloped Abbie as her gaze slid to the stranger’s face. Beautiful would be a gross understatement.

He had a smooth, strong jaw that angled up to slightly pointed ears. Pointed ears? His dark hair lay haphazardly tousled on the pillow. Full lips and a faintly crooked nose made up the rest of his face. She wondered what color his eyes were.

Without conscious thought, she inched forward on shaky legs. Why would they have him here? Is he sick? Contagious? It didn’t matter as long as she could stand there and drink him in.

Her father must have sensed her approach. He stiffened a second before spinning around. “What are you doing here?” He seemed more nervous than angry.

“I could ask you the same thing. What’s going on, Henry?” She nodded toward the incapacitated stranger taking up far too much bed.

“You have to leave. Now.”

Anger surged. “What is that man doing here? This isn’t a hospital, so don’t bullshit me.”

“Honey, please. You’re not supposed to be here. You need to go home. Now. I’ll explain it all in the morning.” He glanced toward to door several times as he spoke.

“Not until you tell me the truth.”

He took a deep breath and pinned her with an impatient stare. “Fine. But then you must go.”

She raised an eyebrow.

About the Author

Bestselling Author Ditter Kellen has been in love with romance for over twenty years. To say she's addicted to reading is an understatement. Her eBook reader is an extension of her and holds many of her fantasies and secrets. It's filled with dragons, shifters, vampires, ghosts and many more jaw-dropping characters who keep her entertained on a daily basis.Ditter's love of paranormal and outrageous imagination have conspired together to bring her where she is today...sitting in front of her computer allowing them free rein. Writing is her passion, what she was born to do. I hope you will enjoy reading her stories as much as she loves spinning them. Ditter resides in Florida with her husband and many unique farm animals. She adores French fries and her phone is permanently attached to her ear.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

The last thing Natalie needs in her life is a handsome-as-sin single father living right next door. What she wants to do is shun the world and embrace her broken heart. She regrets snapping at his little girl over something as silly as Christmas lights, but nothing in the world will change her mind about taking part in holiday hoopla or letting a cherub, or her sexy father, into her life.

Zach's decision to ignore his snarky, smoking-hot new neighbor is an easy one, even if he feels a tug of regret he won’t get to know her better. He wants nothing to do with a woman who would snap at his little girl over something as trivial as decorating for the holiday.

Neither are prepared for hearts tripping and emotional barriers falling when Zach snatches her from the flames engulfing her home and ends up tucking her into his spare bedroom. Little does he know his ability to play nothing more than caretaker until she's back on her feet is nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

Will holiday hearts awaken to passion and new love, or will Zach and Natalie let this chance at new love pass them by?

About the Author

Fiola has always loved to read and cut her teeth on page-turners such as The Forest of Mystery, Robin Hood and Nancy Drew. She grew up a devout tomboy, playing with cowgirl action figures, and getting into mischief back when Silicon Valley wasn't even a gleam in San Jose's eyes.

She loves to live life to its fullest, from riding hell-bent-for-leather on her Appaloosa in gymkhanas to surf-fishing in Hawaii, jumping boulders on the breakwater in Morro Bay to walking barefoot on the beach and dreaming of romance.

Many of her story ideas were found during her travels far and wide, from Corpus Christi TX, where her ancestors are buried in the Pioneer Cemetery to Pendleton OR. From Tucson AZ to Seattle WA to Vancouver BC. She's always on the lookout for that next story, that next place to bury the body. Or lock-lips with a hot guy.

She kicks-ass and take names in beautiful but weird Portland, Oregon with her amazingly talented son and daughter-in-law and their most affectionate cat Nudge.

There's
a fine line between mysticism and madness. . . one they must cross to win.

London psychiatrist Wesley
Atherton is a man of science. He doesn't believe in love at first sight, but
he’s inexplicably drawn to a green-eyed American beauty he bumps into on the
Tube. Just his luck that Katherine, a fashion design intern, has an engagement
ring on her finger.

Wes knows a thing or two about
people, though. Instinct tells him there's something more than irresistible
temptation behind their attraction. She doesn't love her fiancé, he's sure of
it—now if only he can convince her they're meant to be together.

Surviving a deadly train wreck is
the first sign his intuition is spot on. The second: a psychic who warns them
the Reaper doesn't like to be cheated out of its quarry. The situation defies
all logic, but a string of strange and lethal events convinces Wes that he and
Katherine are living on borrowed time. Pitted in a battle against death itself,
Wes will do anything, make any sacrifice, to protect the woman he loves.

I felt myself
flying backward. It happened in the blink of an eye. One second I was on top of
the world, the next plunged into darkness, surrounded by the sounds of metal
scraping against metal, shattering glass and terrified screams—one of them my
own.

The railway car
I was on had jumped the tracks. It was skidding sideways, momentum causing it
to careen out of control. In the dim tunnel light I caught a glimpse of the
rapidly approaching wall. The car crashing into it sounded like an explosion.

Then, just as
suddenly as it had started, it ended. For a moment it seemed the earth stood
still. Silent. I was wedged on the floor between two seats, my left arm and
shoulder throbbing in pain. Using only my right arm, I reached for the seat in
front of me and pulled myself up to a standing position. Without a moment’s
hesitation, I reached into my pocket for my lighter and struck a flame.

The air was
thick with dust and debris that stung my eyes and filled my nose. I waved my
hand in front of my face in an attempt to clear it. Squinting into the
darkness, I called out for the woman who’d been in my arms just seconds
earlier.

“Katherine?”

I spied her
lying on the floor; she appeared unconscious. On impact she’d been thrown clear
across the aisle. “Katherine!”

She didn’t
respond. I fell to my knees alongside her. Reaching out with a shaky hand, I
offered up a silent prayer before checking for a pulse. Thankfully, she still
had one and it was strong, steady.

I guided the
light over Katherine’s body, assessing her injuries. The butane burned and as
seconds ticked away, the outer casing of the silver lighter became increasingly
hot. Just as I noticed a tiny rivulet of blood seeping from her left ear, I
dropped it.

“Bugger!”

The blood
concerned me. The fact that she was unconscious concerned me even more. I
pushed down the rising feeling of panic, then methodically began to search the
area in front of me for the lighter. Within a few seconds I’d found it and was
able to illuminate her face.

“Katherine,
love, open your eyes.”

Still no
response.

“Henry? Where
are you?”

It was the
elderly woman Katherine and I had been sitting across from just minutes ago. It
had been after midnight when we’d pulled out of the Mornington Crescent Tube
station. There were only five of us in the car, Katherine and me, the elderly
woman and her husband and a young man.

I stood and held
the light out behind me, in the direction where the young man had been. I heard
a cough and seconds later he emerged, stumbling down the aisle through the
rubble and awkwardly stepping over a section of twisted metal frame.

“Is she okay?”

I remembered
seeing the young man nursing a bottle in a paper bag as he boarded. He was
obviously pissed, unsteady on his feet.

“I’m trying to
find out. I need your help. Are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t
think so.”

“I’m Wes. What’s
your name?”

“Mark.”

“Mark, I need
you to help me. I’ve been injured.” I was suddenly acutely aware of the pain in
my left shoulder. “I need for you to do as I say. Do you have a set of keys?”

“Yeah.”

I handed him the
lighter, then leaned over and opened one of Katherine’s eyelids. “I’m a
doctor,” I explained. “Move the light up here, in front of her eyes.”

With some relief
I saw that Katherine’s pupils were dilated, and although they were non-focal,
they were still reactive to light.

I ran my hand
over her hair. “Stay with me now. We’ll get you out of here,” I assured her
before turning back to Mark.

“Remove her
shoes. We need to check her motor response. That’s it. Now, firmly run the key
up the length of her foot.”

For a second I
held my breath.

“Like this?”

Katherine’s foot
retracted.

“Thank God!” I
whispered. She’d clearly felt it.

“So she’s okay?”

“Not by a long
shot. But it could be worse. Much worse.”

“What’s wrong
with her?”

“Head injury.
She’s had a bleed, I think. We’ve got to get her to a hospital.”

“Somebody help
me. Henry?” It was the elderly woman again and she sounded short of breath.

I leaned down,
placed a gentle kiss on Katherine’s forehead, then whispered, “Wait for me,
love. I’ll be right back.”

My coat was
crumpled under one of the nearby orange seats and I reached for it.

“Help me get
this over her.”

“What’s wrong
with your arm?”

“It’s nothing.”
I climbed to my feet.

“Do you have a
signal?” I asked, pulling my own mobile out of my pocket.

“No. You?”

“No. Let’s check
on the others.”

Mark went first,
holding the lighter out in front to show the way. First we reached Henry. He’d
also been thrown across the carriage on impact, only his head had struck the
window and shattered the glass. The scene was gruesome. The lighter went out,
once again plunging us into darkness. I was almost grateful.

“Sorry,” Mark
apologized. He relit the flame, now holding the outside of the lighter with a
bandanna he’d retrieved from his pocket. “The casing’s hot.”

Mark turned his
head away from the dormant body. I couldn’t blame him. The man’s face was
covered with blood; his neck had been partially severed by a section of glass.
He was gone.

“Is he dead?”

“Dead?” The
woman began to franticly call out for her husband. “Henry? Henry!”

I quickly
crossed the aisle and crouched down next to her. “What’s your name, love?”

“Margaret.” She
was struggling for breath. “Where’s Henry?”

“Margaret, I’m a
doctor. I’m going to try to help you. Are you hurt?”

“My arm. And my
chest. It feels like something might have fallen on top of me. Where’s Henry?”
Her breaths were becoming more labored. “Henry!”

There was nothing
on top of her chest. I checked her pulse. “I want you to calm down for me now.
You’re heart’s beating like a humming bird. Do you have a heart condition? Do
you take any medicines?”

Before I could
respond, the old woman gasped in pain and clutched her chest.

“What’s going
on?” Mark sounded panicked. “Is she dead, too?”

Things were
going downhill fast. If we didn’t act quickly, we were going to lose her. I
bent over and placed my face next to Margaret’s.

“She’s not breathing
and I’ve lost her pulse.”

“Fuck!”

“Could be just a
heart attack, but she was struggling for breath earlier. Could be an injury to
the chest wall, or a collapsed lung, maybe an embolism. I’m a psychiatrist, for
Christ’s sake. It’s been years since I’ve done this sort of thing and my left
arm is useless! You’re gonna have to help.”

“Leave it! Look,
we don’t have a lot of bloody time here. We need to open her airway. I want you
to place your hand under her neck to tilt her head back and then pinch her
nose, move her chin forward, and give her two breaths. Got it?”

There were a few
scattered lights lining the left wall of the tunnel. My eyes had begun to
adjust to the darkness and I could now see the outline of the woman.

“What if I do it
wrong?”

“Do it!”

He did, then I
leaned over the woman again to assess her breathing. Nothing. I reached for
Mark’s hand and placed it beneath mine on her chest.

“We’re going to
do chest compressions. Not too much force. Fifteen times. Ready? One, two,
three, four,” I counted. There was an audible crack. I felt Mark begin to pull
back.

“I can’t do
this.” He sounded as if he were about to cry.

“It’s just a
rib. Not so much force. Keep going all the way to fifteen. That’s it. Now,
breathe twice!”

We continued the
cycle six times with no response.

“It’s not
working!”

He was right.
For the first time in ages I felt incompetent. I’d been of no more use to
Margaret than the pissed boy had been. I reached up and wiped the sweat from my
brow.

“No, it’s not
working,” I admitted, realizing that I had to accept defeat and move on.
Katherine was still alive and she needed me, was depending on me.

“Now what?”

“Now we check on
my girl. We’ve got to get her out of here.”

I stood and made
my way back to Katherine, Mark following closely behind.

“Maybe we should
wait? Don’t the Tube rails have electrical current flowing through them?”

“We’ll be
careful. I made a promise to the lady. I intend to keep it.”

“Take a chance,
Katherine. You know I’m right. You know it. You can feel it, can’t you? You
won’t regret it, not for one bloody second,” I’d promised her, leaning down to
steal one more kiss, enticing her into wanting, into forgetting, into
surrendering.

The
Ascension

The
Forbidden Series

Book
Two

Samantha
Sommersby

ISBN: 978-1-945193-85-9

ASIN: B01MXIRTGW

Word Count: 60000

Book Description:

There’s
only one way to safeguard the future: fight free of the past.

Byron Renfield is a master of
climbing the social ladder. He’s successful, handsome, independently
wealthy...and a vampire. As a member of an elite group of immortals, the
Dominie, Byron’s spent centuries isolating himself from humanity in order to
pursue redemption. It’s a good plan...until Violet Deeds comes along.

Violet is beautiful, sexy,
outspoken...and human, which makes her completely off limits. His society’s
canon may forbid it, but Byron is rocked by a longing so intense that in one
impulsive act of passion, he claims Violet as his mate.

Irrevocably bound together, Byron
and Violet enter one another’s worlds, threatening the balance of society and
nature. He takes steps to protect them both from the Dominie’s inevitable
retribution, but it isn’t enough. Violet is hunted down and kidnapped. If Byron
wants a life—any life—with Violet, he must defy the very core of the Dominie
itself. And win.

Twenty-five years ago, Dell
Renfield’s father started a revolution. Dell plans to finish it. Sorcerer, sexy
vampire, secret weapon, he’s spent his entire life training for what he
believes to be his fate. The one deterrent he isn’t equipped for? Special Agent
Alexandria Sanchez.

Alex is quick-witted,
hot-tempered, and strikingly beautiful. Normally focused on getting the job
done, she’s completely unprepared for her new partner and his mysterious
ability to drive her to distraction. Posing as lovers, Alex and Dell infiltrate
a dangerous culture where the macabre seems mundane and passion is power.
Unable to deny their attraction or resist temptation, they begin a journey,
entering into a torrid affair that will forever change their destiny.

An age-old secret, a consort held
hostage, a curse demanding to be broken, and an unforgettable battle with a
mercenary master mage will have you holding your breath. Let Samantha Sommersby
lead you into a world like no other, a world where vampires are real, where
magic is possible, and where love still conquers all.

There’s
a fine line between man and beast…one only the heart can cross.

A year ago, Jacob Madison got
more than he bargained for during a rock-climbing trip to Yosemite. A freak
accident left him badly injured, at the mercy of the elements—and the wolves
who rescued him. If it hadn’t been for them, he’d be dead. He’d also still be
human. Now he’s back, hoping to find out who he is and what he’s become.
Instead, he finds smart, sexy Allison Connelly.

A forensic psychologist, Allison
is newly divorced and proudly standing on her own two feet…until an unexpected
storm shears off the snow bank she’s standing on. She plunges down an icy
ravine, thinking she’s heading for oblivion. Then she lands in the arms of a
tall, dark Texan. Jake.

Brought together by circumstance
and bound by passion, secrets from their past threaten their future before it
can begin. And somewhere in the mountains lurks a rogue were turned serial
killer. Whatever the danger Jake’s inner beast poses to Allison, there’s only
one way to protect her—unleash it. Even if it costs him her love.

Samantha Sommersby left what she
used to call her “real life” day job in 2007 to pursue writing full-time. Sam’s
background in the psychiatric field is apparent in her work and allows her to
bring a unique perspective to her characters and stories. She currently lives
in southern California with her husband, son, and cocker spaniel, Buck.

Her husband is a social worker who
works with abused children. He’s an avid sailor who loves to surf, and you’ll
find bits of him in every hero that Sam has ever written. Her son is
wonderfully sensitive, with a sarcastic sense of humor. He plays the piano,
composes his own music, is a competitive fencer, and worships video games. On
the rare occasion when Sam manages to set aside some play time for herself,
you’ll most likely find her reading a book, at the movies, or out wine tasting.

Although she’s written a variety
of genres, Sam happily spends most work days immersed in the world of the
Forbidden, a world where vampires, werewolves, and demons are real, where magic
is possible, and where love still conquers all.